


Why can’t you want me like the other boys do?

by winterysomnium



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Jason is an apprentice at a piercing salon, Jason pierces Tim's tongue AU, M/M, Neighbours AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:59:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3172082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterysomnium/pseuds/winterysomnium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s the boy who’s going to pierce Tim’s tongue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU I mentioned in a post on my blog. The whole story is already written, if nothing bad happens the next part should get posted on Wednesday. I really had fun writing this, I hope you will have fun reading it too. :) Title is a lyric from the song Crave You by Flight Facilities feat. Giselle.

Melting ice cubes in his mouth, Tim slumps against the counter, feet dangling limply along the stool, bag slung over his shoulder weighted by school supplies and paper, summer heat dulled by air conditioned to autumns and Jason starts his shift with three plates of burgers balancing from the tips of his fingers, the round, reddened fragments of dents printed up to his elbow and he cleans a table by the windows facing the calmer, sleepier side of Gotham’s avenue, walks by with an order of cappuccino and _one of those fancy sandwiches there_ , _please_ and taps Tim’s shoulder as he goes by, drags a tired, watery sound from Tim’s mouth.

“Hey, neighbor,” he says, a name crammed with: moments of hours of days, two years worth of growing up, growing up to Jason’s shoulders, down to the knees of mayors’ past’s statues on the square, wrapped in nights lost to late TV movies and music snuck under their headphones, it’s a name, it’s Jason’s softer, rough voice, it’s the gravity deciding funny things in Tim’s belly.     

Tim lifts his head, answers a mouth full, a mouth frozen of “hey”, syllables slipping into the icy shores along his teeth and behind the counter Jason manages to pass the sandwich order to the cook, start the coffee machine and press a handful of napkins to Tim’s palm, steams milk to foam to caffeine drinks and Tim bites the last cube left, presses noises of fractures of ice into his bones.

“I told you you’re supposed to get ice chips, not _cubes_ ,” Jason says, comments on the lump showing under Tim’s cheek, Tim says: “Yeah, but I’m lazy.” and Jason sighs, a puff of air and feeling, returns to his job duties, the diner lulled to tranquil, backwards rushes, dim in the afternoon sun and when the counter is at everyone’s back Jason leans against its edge, close to Tim’s hands, closer to Tim’s face, says: “Stick out your tongue.” and “Where did you get the cubes anyway? From the soda?” and Tim doesn’t quite lean back, nods, opens his mouth, carefully sticks out his tongue and wishes Jason wasn’t thoughtfully assessing how swollen it is, how quick will it heal, when will they change the piercing for a smaller one, wishes he would think about kisses, friction, how the cubes made Tim’s mouth cold.

“Looks good though,” Jason decides, feeling proud, vaguely unsure if it’s because it’s his first, if it’s  because it’s _Tim’s_ first or if it’s because of the look Tim gives him, weak exasperation to trust to subtle admiration, and he admires Tim too, admires him for the offer, for saying _that’s so cool_ to Jason’s   _I want to ask for an apprenticeship at this one piercing place, actually_ , admires himfor being brave, being braver when Jason was hiding nervous fingers underneath a cocky smile, admires him for scrubbing the blood stain from the carpet before Jason’s Mom would be home, for eating the over salted soup Jason made afterwards.

He admires him, and maybe it’s for completely meaningless things.

But he steals Tim’s Zesti and gives him bottled water instead, says: “No fizzy drinks.” but later they share leftover fries and Jason buys Tim mashed potatoes in the end, the fries a pain to swallow and as Jason changes clothes, Tim hands him the CDs he wanted to borrow and a book he didn’t, a book Tim picked for him at the bookstore, because  — “You didn’t charge me for the piercing and I know you wanted to buy this one.” and a shrug and Jason doesn’t know how to receive things like that so he doesn’t say anything, idly flips the pages, closes it and says: “You didn’t have to, you know.” but Tim shrugs again, opens the door, says: “I think I did, though.”  and Jason lights a smoke, exhales faint echoes of Gotham’s atmosphere and says: “Thanks.” as he’s placing the cigarette near his mouth, as he’s sucking out the fire, again.

Gotham flows, his cigarette turns to achy smoke, they chatter.

Jason knows Tim’s in love with him.

—-

Jason’s room is stuffy, warm even with the windows open, warm even with the plastic, swift blades of the fan singing a hum beneath the lazy static of the radio, bathed in atmospheres of sleepy, hazy wakings and Tim sits at the foot of Jason’s bed, Jason’s in shorts, in a tank top, in thin, clean gloves, Tim’s palms feel sweaty but they’re dry, drier than his mouth and he idly moves his feet, rubs his heels against the carpet and Jason picks up the needle, says: “Go sit on the chair, the bed’s too wobbly.” and watches Tim leave the bed, wonders why this is what Tim wants from him, if he wants this for wanting it or for wanting _Jason_ , wonders if _he_ wants any of this, at all.

(He might want _something_ , but it has no shape, no gravity, no thing Jason knows applies and he can’t decipher anything, can’t tell what _Tim’s_ thinking yet he knows there are  unsent texts on Tim’s phone, texts Jason didn’t read but he caught a shard of a line, a fragment, the heart of the thought.

 _I’m thinking about you when you’re not —_.

Jason’s not. He’s not. He doesn’t want to corrupt this, in any way.

He just wants one thing in his life to be easy.)

He steps closer, Tim’s back straightens, he opens his mouth and Jason’s courage stutters, falters in his wrists.

He shifts his weight, left to right. “You sure you want this done today?” he asks, Tim heaves a sigh, they share a moment of competing looks.

Tim stays incredulous, a touch annoyed, stays with his back pressed to the fabric of the chair. “ _Yes_ , yes I am _sure_ I do. Can you stop asking and do it? It’s like I’m waiting for someone to stab me here.”

“Technically, you _are_ waiting to get stabbed.”

“Technically, that doesn’t make me feel better. At all. Just so you know.”

“Technically, that made no sense.”

“Technically, could you just _do it already_ I really _really_ want that ice cream you promised me.”

“Technica— I mean. _Fine_. Fine, I’m doing it.”

And he is. He’s the boy who’s going to pierce Tim’s tongue.

(He’s also the boy Tim likes, but Jason doesn’t know that. Neither does he know that Tim has planned this for weeks, that Tim has known it has to happen today, that he lied about his Dad’s yes and Jason doesn’t know Tim’s going to lie about it when his Dad returns from his vacation with Dana, that he’s going to hide it until it’s impossible.

If Jason knew, he wouldn’t be the boy to pierce Tim’s tongue.

And Tim doesn’t want any other boy to do that.

Tim wants the boy he likes and the boy who’ll pierce his tongue be the same person.

He wants them to be Jason, Jason only.)

He opens his mouth wider.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Soup, in this heat?” he mumbles and Jason asks, “What?” and Tim wishes Jason would fall in love with him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an AU I mentioned in a post. I really had fun writing this, I hope you will have fun reading it too. :) Title is a lyric from the song Crave You by Flight Facilities feat. Giselle.

It stings after, there’s a geometry of blood seeping across Jason’s carpet and Tim’s carefully sucking on a popsicle, it melts under his teeth, on his tongue, above his fingers, flows down the dips between his knuckles, he watches Jason cook soup.

“Soup, in this heat?” he mumbles and Jason asks, “What?” and Tim wishes Jason would fall in love with him, too.

He cleans Jason’s carpet for him and sheepishly watches him scrub at the colourful stain on the couch where his popsicle dripped, watches the show they both like and in commercial breaks, he’s being inspected, he inspects too, Jason goes for a smoke talking of quitting and Tim asks questions, carefully, leaning on the arm rest of the couch, elbows, full weight, rests his head.

He asks: “Have you ever made out with someone with a piercing like this?” and Jason glances at him, faces the street, again, watches the clouds. “Once, yeah,” he answers, drags in another smoky breath.

Tim keeps watch.

“Who was it?”

“Isabel, from the salon. Apprentice, too.”

“How was it?”

Jason shrugs. “Good. Hot. I don’t know,” he answers and Tim slumps back onto the couch, picks up his spoon, stirs the soup.

“When do you think I can eat pizza again?” he asks as Jason walks in, hiding his lighter in the packet of smokes, hiding the packet in his pocket, picking up his own bowl.

“If you put it in a mixer, right away,” he answers, teasing, and Tim scrunches up his nose, thoughtfully stirs the soup once more.

“Can you believe I’m actually considering it?” he says, turning to Jason’s steps, to his presence in the room. “Imagine: pizza soup.”

“Sounds _delightful_.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Tim.”

“What?”

“Just eat the damn soup.”

 —-

A week later, all of the aches in Tim’s mouth are gone, the afternoon slips into early, dim evenings, they’re watching the movie Jason’s friend lent him yesterday, Jason’s arm is stretched out and Tim’s underneath it’s roof, can’t help but glance at Jason, one, two, three times, searching for the change because something is — _off_ , Jason’s far away, distant but closer than before, a window view, he’s tapping nonsense onto Tim’s calf but won’t look at him, won’t acknowledge Tim is.

Or maybe he _will_ because he’s pausing the movie, he says: “I know you want to kiss me.” slowly, low,  and Tim’s heart does the opposite, turns fast, rushes but Tim holds steady, says: “Yeah?” and Jason answers, turns his head to look at Tim’s mouth, answers: “Yeah.”, answers: “If you want to do something, you should do it.” and Tim sits straighter, moves closer, kisses Jason’s mouth and he doesn’t do anything, for a second, sluggishly presses against Tim’s lip, against a bit of his jaw and Tim does too, slips his tongue  in between Jason’s teeth and he sighs against Jason’s touch, spills thoughts unwanted, lights a shivery, liquid fire underneath his skin, centered under his belly and Jason drags his hand up his side, circles his shoulder, pushes at his collarbone.

He breaches the touch, breaks the fire, says: “Shit.” and Tim sits back, watches him wipe his mouth, asks: “Was is not good?” and it was — _too good_ but that would be — different, unsteady, _uneasy_ and Jason avoids the answer, avoids _Tim_ by saying: “Let’s continue the movie.” and they do, Tim reluctant and Jason absent and in the quieter room, one hour and twenty minutes later, Tim asks: “Did this mean anything to you? Because I need it to mean something.” and Jason idly picks at his pockets, looks at his own knees.

“I don’t know. I don’t think it could,” he answers, wonders if he destroyed something whole with any of his words, wonders if the world between them fell apart. He adds: “I’m sorry.” and Tim answers, coarse: “Me too.”

Says: “I should go.” and stands up, leaves Jason’s room but doesn’t take any of his things, leaves his hoodie and his comics and has to come back for his phone tucked in the couch but he avoids Jason and _Jason’s_ things and says: “See you.” and Jason thinks that that’s a lie. That he doesn’t want to, anymore.

Instead, Jason became the boy Tim likes, the boy that pierced Tim’s tongue, the boy Tim wants to see more than anyone.

See you, Jason doesn’t say back.

—-

Two days later Tim’s at Jason’s apartment door, holds up a game case, says: “I brought the game you wanted. Can I come in?” and he’s smiling like he has no memory of Jason’s room that day, like he forgot they kissed or that Jason traced half of his silhoulette or that Jason isn’t capable of thinking about anything else anymore, not a _damn thing_ but Tim has no clue about that and it’s probably good, it’s _better_ , Jason doesn’t _want_ him to have any clues and he says: “Sure.” and steps aside, lets Tim walk through the frame.

And they go back from there, just with that one gesture, as if someone pushed the restart button, as if Tim’s lost all feeling of longing, they relapse into two days before, relapse to their routines of talks and play and fun and Jason keeps waking up, keeps hoping to change too, keeps thinking _today, today I’ll forget_. _Today I will feel like I did three weeks ago_.

_Today I won’t think about Tim’s mouth_.

(That day, he kisses another boy after work but it’s not healthy, it’s a touch for the sake of it, he says _sorry_ , says _I’d just be using you_ and he texts Tim, writes _how are you happy_ but he won’t send it and look at that: he’s the one with unsent texts this time.

Look at that.

He feels like shit.)

Two weeks in, and Jason can’t think of any reason not to be with Tim.

Except this time, Tim might.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim comes over, the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an AU I mentioned in a post. Title is a lyric from the song Crave You by Flight Facilities feat. Giselle.

He smokes more. He inhales deeper and he stays at the salon longer and he gets the flu and Tim buys him cough medicine, buys him all of the Star Wars movies on DVD and brings mint scented tissues because he knows they comfort him, make him think of his Mom’s uniform, of his favourite bubblegum and they order take out and watch until Jason’s asleep and watch more after he wakes up and he’d never thought how hard it would be to say something to Tim’s face, how hard it would be to say that he’s in love.

He doesn’t until a week later, sitting drunk on the stairs before their house, taking out his phone but not having the heart to call, his rum based courage too watery for more than a tipsy _i love you_ , for an antsy minute of waiting, of feeling sick to his stomach, of battling the vertigo with nicotine.

 ** _are you drunk_** is Tim’s answer and something about it makes Jason feel heavy, makes him feel sad, alone like he’s about to cry, like he’s a ruin of a building, full with leftover traces of human lives, makes him slump even though he remembers telling Tim’s he’s going out with his coworkers that day, even though he is in fact, really really drunk.

(A lot.)

_maybe_

_can you tell?_

**_where are you?_ **

_home._

**_then go to sleep_ **

_come over. i want us to talk_

**_can’t_ **

**_I’m asleep_ **

_you cant be asleep if youre texting me thats like against the rules_

_the rules of sleep_

_Tim?_

_goodnight_

**_goodnight_**   

Jason goes home.

—-

Tim comes over, the next morning.

“You said you wanted us to talk,” he says to Jason’s tired, dozing silence and Jason’s not catching any of the meaning, says: “Huh. Right. Come in.” and they sit in the kitchen for a coffee, for two and they’re across from each other and it’s surreal to Jason, it’s unbelievable to all of his thoughts and he drinks a cup, drinks half of another, bites into the toast he made, puts it down.

“I’m still a bit drunk,” he blurts out, his overnight scruff itching on his cheek and Tim’s piercing clinks against his teeth, creates an eerily unfamiliar sound. Jason shivers.

“I know,” Tim answers, toys with his cup. “And I know what you want to talk about, too.

“You want to ask me out,” he says, looks up at Jason’s silhoulette, framed by the sun, dipped in a slumped posture, memorized in Tim’s head. “I’d probably say yes, too,” he shrugs and something in Jason unknots.

(It’s his tongue.)

“You — you should know why though. Why now but not — not three weeks ago. Because I was — I was a bit … scared, y’know? I thought we were great as we were, then. Friends. Neighbors. I thought we were at our _best_ and that it was something you can’t change easily. That it was something to stay, something _stable_. Something good. I figured out you liked me but I thought — I thought if you’d kiss me, you’d know too. That you’d realize the same. Because it was — it was so _easy_ making you happy, you know? And you made _me_ happy. I thought if we made out you’d see it’s no good. That it’s only going to complicate us and that it’s going to end up with us not talking anymore and one day we’ll realize we are tired of each other. But it wasn’t. I — I sorta trapped myself there. We haven’t been _just friends_ for a while, have we? And you were just waiting for me to — to not be such a _dunce_. And then I fucked it up. I’m sorry, Tim. For all it’s worth, I do want to ask you out. But mostly I just — I just want you. Fuck.” Jason rubs his cheek, tries to hide himself in the plate in front of him and across the table, Tim picks up his cup and moves to a chair closest to Jason, steals a half of his toast.

“That’s okay. I mostly just want you, too, Jason,” Tim says, steals some of the strawberry jam, too, nudges Jason’s feet under the table.

“But you _definitely_ have to buy me an apology pizza,” he adds, Jason snorts, absently and knocks his shoulder against Tim’s.

“You got it, neighbor.”

 I’ll get you biggest one in town.


End file.
